The Prince of Denmark
by miguelisasir
Summary: For Hamlet, nothing was absolute. Nothing was worth living for. Love was but a farce. Vengeance would yield only more bloodshed. The only thing that mattered was absolute certainty. And there was certainly none of that these days.
1. The Third Sighting

**Act I**

It was a much colder night than usual, even for a winter in Denmark. That, paired with the hushed silence that engulfed the grounds of Elsinore Castle, was enough for Francisco to grow wary of the silent darkness and weary of the spine-tingling chill. The green hawk snuggled himself further underneath his jacket, but to no avail.

"I_ loathe_ winters. Especially in Denmark," he groaned.

On top of everything, Francisco was having trouble focusing. His head was starting to pound, he was catching a cold, and he could feel his stomach churning slightly.

He could not _wait_ to be relieved of duty tonight.

The midnight hour was fast approaching; "The Witching Hour," they called it. Francisco thanked the heavens that he was almost finished with his shift on the battlements.

He suddenly felt as if someone were watching him but, looking out into the vast, dark and open land before the castle, all he saw were the flecks of snow being blown about by the wind; which, to the avian's eyes, looked like a man flying about. For the umpteenth time that hour, he just told himself it was but a hallucination; his eyes were playing tricks on him, a product of his sickness and his anticipation of being relieved for the night.

A voice to his right brought Francisco out of his apparent hallucination. "Who's there?" the voice called out.

"I should ask the same thing," Francisco retorted apprehensively. "Identify yourself!"

"Long live the king!" the voice replied.

Francisco then recognized the voice and its owner.

"Barnardo?" he asked tentatively.

Barnardo stepped closer as the green hawk's eyes adjusted to the deep blackness.

"Yes, Francisco, it is I," the purple chameleon said. "And I have come to relieve you of your duty for the night."

"And not a moment too soon. Thank God," the hawk sighed, which sent a cloud of vapor from his beak. "Might I inquire as to what time it is?" he asked.

"The clock is just striking midnight. Please, Francisco, I do implore you to go to bed," the chameleon said, noting how Francisco looked a little worse for the wear, though he said nothing of the green avian's sickly appearance.

"Many thanks, Barnardo. It is woefully cold and I fear I am quite sick," Francisco shivered into his jacket.

"Has there been any trouble during your shift?"

"Fortunately nothing, not even the stir of a mouse."

"Have you seen Marcellus or Horatio about?"

"No. May I ask why you seek them?"

"They're supposed to keep watch with me tonight, but I have neither seen hide nor hair of them. If you happen to pass either of them, please tell them to hurry," Barnardo requested, a slightly frantic tone seeping into his voice.

Francisco noticed his slightly urgent tone and wanted to pursue the matter further, but he was getting dreadfully sick, and he could hear quick but measured footsteps approaching where the two sentries stood. "I think I hear them. Halt! Who goes there?"

"We are friends to this state," a slightly unfamiliar voice called.

"And servants of ze Danish king!" a more familiar voice added.

"Ah! Marcellus! Horatio!" Francisco greeted, shaking the hands of both the golden-brown coyote and cobalt blue hedgehog respectively. "Hello! And good night!"

"_Adieu_, 'onest soldier," Marcellus crowed in his thick French accent. "'Oo 'as taken your place?"

"Barnardo has, Marcellus," the hawk gestured to the chameleon behind him. "Also, he told me that, should I meet you on my way down, to tell you two to hurry up as well."

"Well, thank you very much for that _useful_ tidbit of information my good sentry," Horatio remarked dryly, as Barnardo face-palmed behind Francisco's back. "Now, if you'll excuse us, we _must_ hurry along the three or so steps it'll take to reach Barnardo. Good night!"

Francisco, ever the cheeky bastard (even when coming down with influenza), smirked as he walked away, down to the safety, light, and warmth of Elsinore's halls.

Marcellus and his blue companion turned to the purple sentry. "_Bonsoir_, Barnardo."

"Good evening, Marcellus, Horatio is here too?" the chameleon said.

"More or less every piece of me," came Horatio's reply.

"'As it appeared again tonight?" Marcellus quickly inquired.

"I have seen naught," the other sentry replied.

"Our dear 'Oratio sinks not zat our sighting of zis sing twice now is credible," came Marcellus, "'E believes zat we are imagining zis 'orrible sing. And zat is why I insisted zat 'e come with us on ze battlements, so 'e can see and experience for 'imself, ze ghost zat 'as seemingly roamed ze castle grounds for _deux nuits_, and maybe even 'ave 'im communicate with it."

"Bah! It shall _not_ appear," Horatio snapped, confident in his disbelief.

"Well, would you like to seat yourself?" Barnardo asked of the two men, the stubborn blue hedgehog in particular. "I shall regale to you the happenings of the past two nights; the story you refuse to believe."

"I shall have my ears perked," Horatio replied, still unconvinced.

"Last night," Barnardo began, "when the second star to the left-the one beside the North Star-had traveled part of its course and shines where it is now, which is about when the clock chimed one, Marcellus and I-"

Barnardo didn't have time to finish his sentence, for Marcellus was pointing with a slightly feverish and panicked finger at the ghostly figure behind the chameleon.

* * *

**A/N: I guess I should put a disclaimer here so I don't get shot at or kidnapped by The Copyright SWAT team or something. I own not a single cell of any of the Sonic characters used in this story; SEGA and/or Archie Comics do. Also, the story of Hamlet is not owned by me either; although no one really knows who owns it and therefore can take credit for being the original author because Shakespeare's scripts of it are but his own stage adaptation of an ancient story/stories whose origins and credibility are still being debated today.**

**I hope to God I won't have to put such long disclaimers like this ever again. :-)**


	2. The Cock's Crow

"_I-it 'as c-come again!_" Marcellus stammered, increasingly terrified of the apparition.

"Looking just like the late King Hamlet," Barnardo deadpanned, seemingly unafraid; though he _had_ gotten up from his seated position and gawked at the ghost with wide eyes.

"'Oratio, you are a man of intellectualism, are you not?" the coyote frantically asked the blue hedgehog, who had also stood up.

"Does this spirit not look like the king to you, Horatio?" the purple chameleon asked.

Horatio, in a mixture of fear and fascination, replied, "Y-yes, most like our departed king."

The ghost looked at the three Danes expectantly, as if...

"It wants us to communicate with it," Barnardo stated.

"Ask 'im somesing, 'Oratio," the other sentry urged.

Horatio took a few tentative steps forward, his confidence and skepticism shattered, and in as strong and unwavering a voice as he could manage, he half-yelled to the ghost, "What are you that walk-er-_fly_ so late at night and well into the morning hours, looking very much so like the late King Hamlet of Denmark, dressed as though he had just defeated King Fortinbras of Norway? By God and all of the heavens, I bid you-no-_charge_ you; speak!"

By the end of Horatio's interrogation, the ghost had moved away from the battlements its interrogators were standing on, and was inching even further away.

"It looks like you 'ave offended it," Marcellus stated.

"Stay! Speak! **Speak, I charge you!** _**Speak!**_" Horatio yelled louder and louder, until the last "speak" echoed even throughout the snow-covered castle grounds. The ghost had vanished from sight.

"Horatio, you are pale as that ghost and tremble all over!" Barnardo exclaimed, his voice laced with concern. Then, with a hint of smugness, he added, "Do you still think of us as delusional fools? Do you believe us now? And what are your thoughts on the matter?"

"I would swear to God," Horatio began, but paused as he swallowed a lump in his throat, "that had my own eyes not vouched for me and I saw it for myself, I would never have believed it."

"Is it not like ze old king?" Marcellus asked.

"Yes, Marcellus, as you are to yourself," he said. "Like I told the apparition, it was wearing the exact same armor the king had donned when he defeated Old Norway and claimed his land as part of our own; and he frowned, in similar fashion I think, to the way he used to scowl at his Polish enemies. It's utterly and unnervingly uncanny."

Marcellus reiterated how it had been like this for the previous two nights as well, appearing always at the exact time, the ghost always silently glowering.

"I have the inexplicable feeling that this is an omen that predicts terrible misfortune for our country," Horatio said grimly.

"Well, joke me zis: why is it zat ze guard schedule is so strict and tight?" Marcellus began. "Why is Denmark building so many bronze cannons, especially with ze amount of weaponry we are buying from abroad? Why are ze shipbuilders working even srough a _Sunday_? What is 'appening zat warrants working night and day like zat?"

"Well, if you have yet to hear the rumors, let me tell them to you," replied Horatio. "As you very well know, gentlemen, King Hamlet was Fortinbras of Norway's greatest rival. Fortinbras challenged our king to a battle, where the victor, on the basis of a valid legal document, would claim the other's land for his own. As you also know, Old Denmark defeated Old Norway. Now, Fortinbras' young son, Young Fortinbras, is a bold but rather inexperienced monarch. So, to boost himself and apparently his chances of reclaiming the land his father had lost to our late king, he has hired thugs from the most vile and lawless corners of Norway. As far as what I've heard, this is why we have been assigned this position up here, and why Denmark is in a fit state of unrest."

The three men discussed the omens they have seen and heard of and their potential meanings for the next several hours. By the end of it, they were all convinced that these omens and faint whispers of war were no mere coincidences.

"I doubt whether or not those 'rumors' have stayed rumors, especially not now," Barnardo told his comrades with his back to them and his arms crossed, deep in thought. "It must explain why _his_ ghost, of all the souls, was dressed in that armor, out of all the things it could have donned. For it is _he_ who had created this war and the effect it's having on Denmark; and I'd hazard a guess that the people of Norway feel the same."

"It is defnitely an omen to watch," said Horatio. "For in the mighty Roman Empire, in the period before Julius Caesar's assassination, corpses tore through their graves and meandered about the city, speaking in gibberish. The stars shot across the sky like projectiles from a cannon. Blood became mixed in the dew you found in the morning, coating your greenery. The sun cast threatening faces while the moon was eclipsed so much so that it almost ceased to exist. Julius Caesar's own _wife_ had dreamt of the citizens bathing in the blood that poured out from his statue. And here in Denmark, omens that are just as bad have surfaced and are spreading fear and unrest across the land. It's as if all of the heavens and the earth are warning us all they can about imminent and impending danger."

At that moment, the ghost reappeared, as if in agreement with Horatio's latter sentiment.

"But soft, behold! It has come again. I shall converse with it if it kills me," Horatio resolved. "I demand that you stay, apparition!"

All three men then flinch as the ghost spread its arms wide, as if to ensnare the chameleon, coyote, and hedgehog into a ghostly embrace, yet its face remained as stony as ever.

"If you have a voice or can articulate any sort of sound, speak to me!" Horatio barked, then continued in a gentler tone, "If there is a deed with which to let your spirit rest in peace and bring me honor, speak to me! If you know anything about whatever ill fate is in store for Denmark, which could possibly be prevented by us knowing something, _please, speak to me!_ If you've buried treasure in the womb of this planet-and treasure has been said to make ghosts restless-please say _something!_ Stay and speak!"

Barnardo, and a few moments later Marcellus, noticed that a faint light was smudging the dark horizon to the east. The cock would crow soon and the ghost would vanish if it did.

"Keep it from leaving, Marcellus," Horatio pleaded, getting more and more desperate by the second.

"Shall I strike it with my spear?" Marcellus inquired, priming the partisan in question.

Horatio, now panicking and losing all patience, cried, "If it does not stay put, then yes!"

At which point, the ghost floated away again.

Marcellus impulsively launched the spear at the apparition, but the ghostly figure just swerved out of the way.

"There it is!" bellowed Horatio.

It was then that dawn broke and light seemed to flood from the horizon, and as the cock crowed to signal to the rest of Elsinore castle that the day had begun, for the ghost, it was its cue to vanish; leaving nothing in its wake but Marcellus' spear stuck to the ground below and three very distraught men, rooted to their spots atop the battlements.

* * *

**A/N: I guess I should put a disclaimer here so I don't get shot at or kidnapped by The Copyright SWAT team or something. I own not a single cell of any of the Sonic characters used in this story; SEGA and/or Archie Comics do. Also, the story of Hamlet is not owned by me either; although no one really knows who owns it and therefore can take credit for being the original author because Shakespeare's scripts of it are but his own stage adaptation of an ancient story/stories whose origins and credibility are still being debated today.**


	3. This Lovely Morning

"It is gone," Marcellus stated. "We wrong it with our show of violence towards it. Zen again, it is not like we could 'ave 'urt 'im, any more zan we can 'urt ze air we breathe. 'Owever, it was still a stupid, wicked and futile idea."

With a slightly deflated tone, Barnardo added, "It was about to speak too, had the cock not crowed."

"And then," Horatio chimed in, "it acted..._startled_, as if it were a criminal, caught by the law. It has been said that the crow of a cock awakens the god of day, what with that trumpet-like call, and it scares all wandering ghosts near or far into scurrying back to their hiding places. We have just seen proof that it is true."

"Zey also say zat just before Christmas, zey crow all night long, so zat ze night our _Sauveur_ was born, no spirits dare stir, no planets strike, nor fairies cast spells, or witches able to charm. So 'allowed and gracious is za night," Marcellus added.

"Yes gentlemen, I've heard of the same thing and believe it in part," Horatio interjected, "but it is not the Even of Christmas. It is but a normal day; look! The sun claws its way above those hills in the east, giving the sky around it a crimson bath. For now, let us leave this watch, and impart what we have witnessed tonight unto young Hamlet. He might have more fortune in trying to get the ghost to speak, should we find that the ghost _can_ in fact speak. Do you not agree that the least we could do is tell him, if not to coerce the apparition to speak, then to do it out of our duty to him and love for him?"

"We shall do it. I know where we shall find 'im zis _lovely_ morning," Marcellus said, emphasizing the adverb in a display of sarcasm.

* * *

**A/N: I guess I should put a disclaimer here so I don't get shot at or kidnapped by The Copyright SWAT team or something. I own not a single cell of any of the Sonic characters used in this story; SEGA and/or Archie Comics do. Also, the story of Hamlet is not owned by me either; although no one really knows who owns it and therefore can take credit for being the original author because Shakespeare's scripts of it are but his own stage adaptation of an ancient story/stories whose origins and credibility are still being debated today.**


	4. Court Address

An extravagant and properly regal flourish of trumpets announced the arrival of the new King Claudius and his wife Queen Gertrude, prompting those who were already gathered in Elsinore's throne room to bow respectfully. The king and queen also had an entourage about them, consisting of Polonius, Lord Chamberlain of the court and Claudius' right-hand man, his son Laertes and daughter Ophelia, and several lords who waited on the king.

"Though the memories of my elder brother, the most noble Hamlet's death are fresh in our thoughts," began Claudius, stopping in front of his throne and turning around to address the court before him, "and though it was proper of the entire kingdom, as one whole, to contract in a brow of woe, bearing our hearts in grief, we must, in wise sorrow, move and go on as life goes on. However, we must also consider mine-and by extension, the _state's _well-being. To that end, I have taken the advice that so many of you have given me-keeping in mind that I owe you all deep gratitude for it-and married Queen Gertrude, with solemn vows in bittersweet celebration.

"Now, following what we know, let us get down to business," the black and green hedgehog began as he proceeded to take a seat on his throne, signalling to the courtiers present that the court had officially begun. "Young Fortinbras, crown prince of our Norwegian neighbors, is either mistakenly underestimating me, or is operating under the foolishly optimistic pretense that my country is in turmoil over the recent happenings and the transfer of power in Elsinore, for he wishes to gain the upper hand against us and reclaim the land that his father, Old Fortinbras, legally and rightfully, lost to our most valiant Hamlet. So much for him."

Claudius then beckoned a black and red armadillo, and a yellow flying squirrel to the front of the court, where both bowed and then stood, attention focused on the king.

"Now here is what's to be done," he began addressing both the pair and the entire court, "I've written a letter addressed to Fortinbras' uncle, who is currently Norway's head-of-state (even though he is a bed-ridden man who knows next to nothing even about _his own nephew's_ rather _obvious_ plans, but his dubious leadership skills are a matter to be discussed for another time). In this letter, I have implored the uncle to put a stop to his nephew's impending assault, as he is the head of Norway, and is authorized to do so. Here, we dispatch you, good Cornelius, and you noble Voltemand, as bearers of this letter addressed to the king of Norway. I give you no authority to do anything else but this task." Claudius hands an envelope with the Royal Seal stamped on it to the flying squirrel's outstretched hand. "Farewell, and may you make haste. Godspeed, gentlemen."

Both subjects bowed and said, "In that and all things will we show our duty," before turning promptly and leaving.

Claudius then turned his attention to the teal hedgehog now standing before him, and began smilingly, "And now, Laertes, I've heard that you had something to tell me? That you have a favor to ask? What is it, Laertes? You won't lose anything, nor will your voice be wasted when talking to the king of Denmark, and that I'd grant most anything you ask of me. After all, your father and Old Denmark are close, like the head and heart, or the hand and the mouth. What is it that you seek?"

"My lord," Laertes began, "I ask for your leave and your favor to return to France, where I had been previously. Since then, I had been summoned to Denmark, to show duty and witness your coronation. Now, that the duty be done, I must confess that I long to return."

"Dear boy, but have you asked leave of your father yet?" Claudius asked, looking at his Lord Chamberlain, standing behind Laertes. "What say you, Polonius?"

"He has pestered me more times than I care to count, my lord," the brown-fringed blue hedgehog chimed in, stepping forward and clapping Laertes' shoulder with a slightly exasperated chuckle. "In the end, I relented, a little begrudgingly. Please, my lord, I do beseech you to let him go."

"Well, in that case, leave when you feel, Laertes, the time is yours to spend," Claudius replied, leaning back on his throne, "I hereby grant you permission to leave. Enjoy yourself, lad."

Laertes, now positively beaming, turned to leave. Claudius now sets his attention to the black and red hedgehog standing beside Gertrude's throne almost reluctantly, as if he would rather not stand so close.

"And now," Claudius began. "Hamlet," the hedgehog looks at Claudius without moving his head. "My nephew," the hedgehog looks away. "And my son."

Turning his head away and muttering, so no one else could hear, Hamlet retorted irritably, "_A little more than kin, and less than kind_."

"Hamlet, my boy," Claudius continued, unaware of Hamlet's snide remark, "why are you still so gloomy, as if the darkest of clouds hang over you?"

"On the contrary, my lord, your _son_ is out in the sun. Too much, actually," Hamlet replied, barely containing his sarcasm, and still refusing to look in Claudius' general direction.

Painfully aware of the mounting tension between the two men, Gertrude interjects, "Dear Hamlet, please cast off those clothes of nightly color, and bear no animosity to the king! You can't possibly spend the rest of your life with your eyes downcast, thinking of your noble father. You know it is a common occurence. All things that live must die eventually, passing through nature to eternity."

Finally turning to the person conversing with him, Hamlet replies simply, "Yes, mother, it is common."

"So why is it that it seems so _particular_ to you?" Gertrude asked bluntly.

"'_Seem_,' mother? Oh no, it _is_," Hamlet replied, flaring up again. "Neither garments in the deepest shades of black; nor sighs heavier than ships; nor weeping that would embarass the volume of the River Nile; nor downcast eyes, seemingly burning holes into the planet's crust and straight through the depths of hell; nor anything else remotely resembling a sign of grief can _truly_ denote my feelings. True, these actions are indicative of something that '_seems_' like grief, and can be used by any man to fake their grief, if they wanted to," a momentary glance in Claudius' direction before he continued vehemently, "But within _me_, there is so much grief that these actions and the clothes I wear, no matter how dark and nightly their shade may be, are but the surface of it."

Claudius, genuinely impressed and taken aback at his step-son's eloquent, soul-baring speech, could only reply with, "Hamlet...it is...very sweet...and _tremendously_ commendable of you as a son, to mourn for your father so grievously." The elder ebony hedgehog then gathered his bearings, and began in a more even tone, "But do remember that your father-and I, for that matter-had lost his-_our _father, and that father lost his; and each and every one of them, I guarantee, had rightfully mourned, for a time. But to persevere in your grief is just stubborn. It is _unmanly_ grief. It is against God's _will_, to betray a seemingly vulnerable heart and ignorant mind. Keeping in mind that every living thing must die sooner or later, why on earth must we take it to heart and to our own grave?" It was now Claudius who was having trouble containing himself, as he continued, "It is a fault each against _heaven_, the _dead_, and _nature;_ not to mention completely_** irrational**_! You know very well that the truth is that all fathers must and will eventually die."

Claudius then pauses to collect himself again, before continuing in a voice that strained to sound gentle, "Please, I implore you: cast away your unprevailing and unnecessary grief, and try to at least convince yourself to start _thinking_ of me as a father, for _you_ are the crown prince; the one who will inherit the throne when I perish." _'Yes, I was __**also**__ the heir apparent when my father was alive, until you __**swooped**__ in and took the crown for yourself,'_ Hamlet thought bitterly. However, Claudius continued unflinchingly, "and I love you just as much as any father would love a son. In fact, because I love you so much, I strongly advise you to postpone your studies at Wittenberg; for we cannot have you, in your grief-filled state, wandering about." Hamlet flinched, much to Claudius' hidden pleasure, though he continued nonetheless, "I ask you to stay with our merry company, as our chiefest courtier, my nephew, and now my son."

Gertrude, visibly aware of Hamlet's discomfort at the request, quickly added, "Please let God answer my prayers, Hamlet, and stay with us. Go not to Wittenberg."

Hamlet, not wanting to disobey a lightly disguised order from the king and queen, much less in front of an entire _court_, reluctantly replied, in as even a tone as he could manage, "I shall obey your request the best I can, mother."

"That is a correct and loving answer, Hamlet," Claudius replied, now struggling to contain himself again; though this time out of relief rather than anger. Nonetheless, he turned to Gertrude excitedly, "Madam, come. Hamlet's agreeing to stay has made me happy to my core, and every toast I make tonight in his honor shall be made merrily and loudly; heard as far as heaven above. It shall be echoed throughout the skies! Come away."

Thrilled by the prospect of enjoying a joyful night for a change, Claudius, walking hand-in-hand with Gertrude, led the court as they filed out in jovial haste, trumpets blaring their regal flourish. So preoccupied were they with the thought of their eventual merry-making that nobody took notice of the prince, who was still rooted to the same spot he had stood at for the entirety of the court, growing increasingly agitated and angry. A scowl etched its way onto his face, growing alongside the heat of his seething rage.

* * *

**A/N: I guess I should put a disclaimer here so I don't get shot at or kidnapped by The Copyright SWAT team or something. I own not a single cell of any of the Sonic characters used in this story; SEGA and/or Archie Comics do. Also, the story of Hamlet is not owned by me either; although no one really knows who owns it and therefore can take credit for being the original author because Shakespeare's scripts of it are but his own stage adaptation of an ancient story/stories whose origins and credibility are still being debated today.**

**Also, can y'all guess which ****_Sonic_**** characters match up with which ****_Hamlet_**** character?**


	5. Foul Deeds Will Rise

"**RRRAHHHHHH!**"

Without waiting to see if the jaded merry-makers were out of earshot, the prince let loose a scream of pent-up rage that echoed throughout the throne room and were likely heard by the last of the courtiers lagging behind the king's entourage. Hamlet could not have cared less, '_They are too lapped up in the prospect of a happy drunken evening, the blithering __**idiots**_,' he thought, as he panted. Yelling out of pure, uncorked anger and frustration was surprisingly taxing.

"_Oh_ how I wish my rotten, filthy flesh would just _melt_ into a dew, or that the Everlasting had not condemned and made law against self-slaughter!" Hamlet began, in delivery with less volume and shortness of breath but toned with no less frustration. "_Oh God_. **GOD!** Life is but a stale, tired and _pointless_ waste to me that ending it all would be sweet, _sweet_ relief. **Damn it!** Life is just a garden festooned with weeds, and other things so equally rank and vile. Nothing good or beautiful can grow or flourish in its choked, dead soil.

"I cannot believe it has come to this," he continued, "that my father, dead for not even two months, has been replaced by a-" Hamlet stumbled over his word choice for a moment, struggling to come up with a word vulgar enough to describe his uncle, "_foolish, cowardly, dishonorable piece of __**filth!**_" he spat, the last word enunciated with particular venom.

"Such an honorable, excellent king my father was. So much more superior to my uncle, like a god is to a pathetic _rat_, and so loving towards my mother that he would keep the wind from blowing too hard in her face. Oh God, must I remember? She would cling to him relentlessly, and the more she was with him, the more she wanted to stay with him like so. Yet, within a month of my father's passing-_God,_ I'd rather not think about it; 'Frailty' is the name of woman. Even before the shoes she had worn at the funeral had been broken in, her tears flowing like the Nile-oh good **_God_**_,_ a lowly animal would have mourned far longer than _that_-she had already spoken an _'I do'_ to that _loathsome_ sack of _slime;_ my father's brother, who is no more like my father than I to the mighty Hercules. _Less than a month!_ Her cheeks were still _damp_ and _tear-stained_ when she remarried. Such _wicked_ speed, jumping so hastily into incestuous sheets! That is no good and no good shall come of it. But my heartbreak must be in silence, for my tongue must be held for now," he finished, as he heard approaching footsteps echoing in the hallway outside the throne room.

"Hail to your lordship," greeted a cobalt blue hedgehog merrily, unaware of the prince's soulful soliloquy moments before.

Pleasantly surprised that Horatio was around, Hamlet replied, "I am glad to see you well-Horatio? Or have I mistakenly addressed you?"

"The very same, my lord. The very same respectful servant," Horatio replied, bowing.

"I'll change that name to 'friend' for you," the black-furred prince smiled as he embraced Horatio, his anger now spent. "But why are you so far from Wittenberg? Ah! Marcellus!" Hamlet said as he noticed the golden-brown coyote.

"My good lord," Marcellus said curtly, bowing as well.

"I am glad to see you," Hamlet said in his direction. "And hello to you too, sir," he addressed Barnardo, who bowed silently.

"But what brings you away from Wittenberg, Horatio?" the ebony hedgehog inquired again.

"I felt the truant disposition of skipping school sir," the blue hedgehog replied with a smirk.

"I would never allow your enemies to say that," the prince retorted, "and I'd never believe it even if it came from you. You're never one to skip class."

The prince then asked again, this time with a slight smirk, "What brings you to Elsinore? Might it be the drinks? Well, come, I'll teach you to drink hard by the time you leave."

Horatio answered him bluntly, "No my lord, I came to see your father's funeral."

Hamlet's anger flared up again, but he tried his best to keep the mood light as he replied, "Please, don't mock me. I know you came here to see my mother's wedding instead."

"Well," Horatio began uncertainly, keenly aware of his friend's stance on the matter, "indeed, they _did_ follow each other closely."

"Well, it was all about _thriftiness_, Horatio!" Hamlet snapped, letting loose his tongue but still trying to humor the situation. "What was left over from the funeral dinner made for a _fine_wedding banquet, wouldn't you say so?"

Unable to hold himself back any longer, the prince cried, "_Oh_ how I would rather have met my greatest foes in heaven than have gone through that day, Horatio. My father! I think I see my father!"

"Where, sir?" Horatio asked nervously.

"In my mind's eye, Horatio."

Slowly becoming more alarmed, Horatio said, "I-I have seen him once. He was a most noble king."

"He was a great man," Hamlet sedated himself and said in a more hushed tone, "He was perfect in almost every way. I shall not look upon the likes of him again."

"Sir," Horatio began, even more nervously now, "we think we saw him last night."

"Saw who?" the black hedgehog asked dumbly, momentarily lost, basking in the memories of his late father.

"My lord, the king, your father."

"The king, _my father?!_" Hamlet cried sharply, half-dubious and half-hopeful.

"Avoid feeling too much excitement for now, sire," Horatio began warningly. "Please listen with attentive ears, while I relay to you the amazing thing I have seen, with these gentlemen as witnesses."

"For God's sake, let me hear!" the prince cried impatiently.

"Two nights in a row had these gentlemen, Marcellus and Barnardo, bore witness to a figure like your father, fully clad in armor from head-quills to toes, as they stood on their watch, some time in the dead waste and middle of the night," Horatio began, gesturing to the sentries behind him. "It had appeared before them and marched at a slow, stately and solemn pace, at but a staff's distance from their eyes, while they nearly distilled into jelly out of fear, thereby rendering them speechless. I had been told this and, upon initially dismissing it as folly, they asked me to come with them on their shift, so I could witness it for myself.

"Sure enough, it happened again, just as they had described," the blue hedgehog blanched at the thought. He pressed on nonetheless, "I knew your father. The apparition looked so much like him.

"These hands," he raised said hands up, "could not be more alike than they."

"But where was this?" Hamlet asked, immensely intrigued.

"On ze platform where we stand guard, sire," Marcellus piped up.

"Did you not speak to it?"

"My lord, I did," Horatio stated. "But answer, it did not. Yet once, I thought I saw it raise its head, as if it was about to speak. But alas, the morning cock crowed, and at the sound, it vanished hastily from our sight."

"It is..._very_ strange," Hamlet said, overwhelmed by all of this news.

"As I do live, my lord, I swear it is true," Horatio said, noticing how overwhelmed his friend was. "We thought it our duty to inform you of this."

"Indeed," the prince said weakly, then paused to swallow a lump that had formed in his throat. "Indeed, sirs. But this disturbs me.

"Are you on duty again tonight?" he asked the sentries.

"Yes, my lord," replied the purple chameleon, who up until then had not spoken a word.

"Armed, you say?" the prince turned his attention completely towards Barnardo.

"Armed, sir."

"From head to toe?"

"Fully clad in his proud armor, my lord."

"Then you could not have seen his face?"

"Oh yes we could, my lord. His visor was up."

"Was he frowning?"

"More in sorrow than anger," Horatio chimed in.

"Pale or flushed?" the prince turned to Horatio again.

"Very pale, sire."

"And his eyes were fixed upon you?"

"Constantly."

"How I wish I could've been there," Hamlet replied longingly.

"It would have shocked you beyond reason," warned Horatio.

"I'm sure I would have been," the ebony hedgehog agreed. "Did it stay long?"

"About the equivalent of someone counting to a hundre-"

"No, more than that," the chameleon cut in.

"Not in the time I saw it," the other hedgehog bantered, slightly irritated at the rude interruption.

"His quills were of a shade of cobalt blue, correct?" Hamlet asked quickly, wanting to avert a useless fight.

"The paleness of his fur disguised his color quite a bit, but it was obvious that it would have been a shade of blue with a brown fringe, just as I have seen him in real life," came Horatio's reply.

"I shall stand guard with you tonight," Hamlet declared, "perchance that it will appear again."

"I warrant it will," the blue hedgehog predicted.

"If it resembles my noble father, then I shall speak to it," Hamlet decreed, "even if _Hell_ itself opens and bids me to hold my peace.

"I ask you," he turns to address the other three, "that if you've up to this point kept this secret, to keep it further. Whatever happens tonight shall not be talked about to anyone else besides ourselves, and I shall keep myself restrained as well.

"So fare you all well," he turns, giving them their cue that it was time for them to part ways for now. "I shall see you on the platform within the hour before midnight."

"Our duty to your honor, my lord," the three replied in unison, bowing.

"Your love instead, as mine to you," came Hamlet. "Farewell."

The three men then exit the room, leaving Hamlet once more to his thoughts, but this time, rather than the usual constant beration of his mother's incestuous behaviour and his uncle's inferiority, it was the thought of foul play that invaded his mind.

"_Foul deeds will rise-though all the earth overwhelm them-to men's naked eyes._"

* * *

**A/N: I guess I should put a disclaimer here so I don't get shot at or kidnapped by The Copyright SWAT team or something. I own not a single cell of any of the Sonic characters used in this story; SEGA and/or Archie Comics do. Also, the story of Hamlet is not owned by me either; although no one really knows who owns it and therefore can take credit for being the original author because Shakespeare's scripts of it are but his own stage adaptation of an ancient story/stories whose origins and credibility are still being debated today.**

**Also, dear Fanfiction Anonymous Reviewer Name "Scammel," you are absolutely correct in your assumption that the fiery Norwegian prince is in fact a certain red echidna. Now riddle me this, which certain red echidna are you referring to; because there will be quite a few certain red echidnas in this story. ;) Sincerely (xoxo), Miguel.**


	6. To Thine Own Self, Be True

"My belongings have already been loaded on the ship," Laertes turns to Ophelia, after he gives his room one last sweeping glance, to find any necessary belonging he may have missed. "And with that, I bid you farewell. As well, dear Ophelia, as the winds give benefit and ships sail, sleep not, but let me hear from you. Please write."

Smirking slightly, the rose-colored hedgehog shot back, "Do you doubt that I will?"

Laertes allowed himself a small smile at his sister's cheek, before setting his mouth into a firm line as he continued, "As for Hamlet and his advances with you," at this, Ophelia inwardly groaned, for they had encroached upon the subject she wanted to avoid discussing most, least of all with Laertes, "consider it playful flirting, a phase brought on by his tempered youth. Something like _that_ cannot last. It is sweet, but it will fade in a minute. Not a second more."

"No more than that?" the maiden asked, half-genuinely. Even though some part of her knew that Laertes' words were only spoken out of feelings of protectiveness and a belief that very few men were worthy enough to court her-_F__unny he should think that even a _**prince**_ wouldn't be worthy of me; dear brother you flatter me too greatly,_ she thought-Ophelia felt a twinge of doubt at her supposed lover's musings and affectionate gestures, now that her brother brought the subject forward.

"Try and think of it like so," he stated bluntly. "When boys grow, they grow not just in size and bulk, but their responsibilities grow wide withal."

Ophelia considers this, unsure of where he was going and slightly embarassed at his rather _blunt_ analogy.

"Perhaps he loves you now, and bears no ill-intent, but you must stand vigilant," the teal hedgehog continued unflinchingly, unaware of his sister's mounting discomfort. "Always remember that, because he belongs to the royal family, his intentions, however good, are meaningless. His will isn't his own, for he is bound to his obligations as heir apparent to the state. He cannot, as common people can, carve for himself and indulge in his own desires, for on his choices depend the health and safety of our nation. Therefore, his choices must be circumscribed around the needs and wants of the country he will eventually lead."

Ophelia's heart sank further as she came to the realization that, no matter how much she disliked it, her brother was right. Even still, Laertes pressed on, "So, if he says he 'loves you,' it would be wise to perceive his words as meaning only as much as the state of Denmark would allow them to mean.

"Moreover, think of what would happen if you caved in to his words and his advances," Laertes remarked, making Ophelia's muzzle grow a blush in the same shade as her fur, not wanting to believe that Laertes would even speak of such a subject; however, she still said nothing, allowing her brother to ramble on. "Think of the loss your honor would sustain, think of the inevitable loss of your heart, and the mangled state your chaste treasure chest would be in, should you succumb to his 'loving,' greedy fingers."

Even with her head turned to the side, Laertes could not help but notice the deep shade of crimson his sister's muzzle had adopted, and struggled to reel himself back to the boundaries of appropriate speech and innuendos.

"Fear it, Ophelia," he began again softly after a brief pause, which made Ophelia snap her focus back to her brother. "Please, I beseech you, to keep your love under control, and avoid becoming a target of his lust and desire."

Ophelia averts her gaze once more, though Laertes fails to notice and continues, "A maid unmasking her beauty to the moon is risk enough; exposing yourself to _him_ should be out of the question. Virtue cannot outweigh calumny, and even the most virtuous of souls fall prey to vicious slander. Worms scurry around gardens, ruining and killing the infant rose blooms of spring, before they even have a hope of blossoming into the beauty we all know they can achieve. These buds, ripe in the dew of youth, are most susceptible to disease and death.

"Be wary then," the teal hedgehog whispers warily, cradling the pink hedgehog's hands in his own. "The greatest safety lies in your fear. Youth will rebel against itself, stripping off self-control though no one else be near to tell them to. Remember this, dear Rose Bud."

Ophelia smirks slightly at her old nickname, given to her due to her apparent resemblance to a pink rose. Her smirk then becomes a small smile, as she contemplates how over-protective Laertes can be.

"I shall keep this good lesson close to my heart, as a watchman for my safety," she retorted. Setting her face into a slight scowl, she then countered, "But, dear brother, be not like a blasphemous, ungracious hypocrite of a pastor, who shows me the steep and thorny way to the heavens, and then shoves me onto it while he frolics like a pompous, uncaring libertine on the primrose path of dalliance and sin."

Laertes could not help but chuckle at his sister's boldness, rebutting his advice with her own.

"Fear me not," he assured her, pulling her into an embrace, as their father comes into the room.

"I have stayed here too long, for here father comes," Laertes notices the affectionate smile that the cobalt blue hedgehog wears, witnessing his children's embrace. "What luck! A double blessing is a double grace."

"Still here, Laertes?" the blue hedgehog asked in a stern voice, though his lips were starting to twist into a smile. "Aboard, aboard, for shame! The winds sit within the sail, awaiting on you to embark and to give them the word to move forward."

Laertes shared a light chuckle with his father as he releases Ophelia and the two men embrace. "There again, my blessing now doubled, and, with what I am about to advise you with, your wisdom hopefully widened," Polonius remarked, momentarily cupping Laertes' face in his hands.

"Give your thoughts no tongue to speak aloud with, nor any ill thoughts be given hands to carry out their ill intent," the cobalt hedgehog began, brushing his brown fringe back. "Be amiable, but by no means vulgarly affectionate. Test the friends that you have to find out who will never cease to be trustworthy and hold onto them."

Polonius and Ophelia began to escort Laertes outside at this point, as his father rambled on, "But, do not dull your palms shaking hands with every unfledged comrade you meet." The cobalt hedgehog then turned to his son, placing both hands on the younger hedgehog's shoulder, and suddenly hardening his face, "Beware, do not pick any fights, but should you find yourself in a quarrel, be sure to hold your own."

The elder hedgehog's face then softens, as he continued, "Lend to all your ears and take their opinion, but give few your voice and even less your own judgement." Polonius pauses as he smooths out a wrinkle in Laertes' shirt, before resuming, "Afford yourself some expensive clothing, though none so fancy as to be garish; something rich but not gaudy. The clothes _do_ make the man; _especially_ in France.

"Neither a borrower nor a lender be," Polonius proceeded, while Laertes, who was now fastening his coat, smiled at the old man's insistence on reinstating his advice again. "Loans often lose both itself and comrade, and borrowing all but neuters husbandry.

"Finally," Polonius paused, making sure Laertes was listening and not fumbling with his coat distractedly, "this above all: to your own self, be true, and follow it through; like the day does night. You cannot then be false to any other man.

"Farewell, my son," the two men embraced again. "My blessing shall hopefully let all this be absorbed into you."

"I humbly take my leave," Laertes remarks, respectfully bowing his head slightly. "Farewell, father."

"Go now, for the time is right!" the cobalt hedgehog urged. "Your servants and the wind await you."

"Farewell, Ophelia," Laertes cried, waving to the rose hedgehog. "Remember well what I have said to you, dear Rose Bud!"

"It is locked in my memory, and it is you yourself who is the keeper of the key," she retorted, waving back.

"Farewell."

And with that, Laertes began his journey to France.

* * *

**A/N: I guess I should put a disclaimer here so I don't get shot at or kidnapped by The Copyright SWAT team or something. I own not a single cell of any of the Sonic characters used in this story; SEGA and/or Archie Comics do. Also, the story of Hamlet is not owned by me either; although no one really knows who owns it and therefore can take credit for being the original author because Shakespeare's scripts of it are but his own stage adaptation of an ancient story/stories whose origins and credibility are still being debated today.**


	7. Tenders And Vows

Polonius waited until Laertes' carriage had fully departed, which left only him and Ophelia standing in the front courtyard of the castle grounds.

Being a preternaturally curious man (some would even go so far as to describe him as being "nosy"), Polonius turned to his daughter, wanting to ask what his children were discussing beforehand.

"What is it Ophelia, that your brother had said to you that was important enough for him to ask for you to swear it be locked away in your heart?" he asked the pink hedgehog.

Again, Ophelia groaned inwardly; for however much she despised discussing the matter of Prince Hamlet and his advances on her with Laertes, she absolutely _loathed_ discussing it with her oft-overbearing father that much more. Swallowing her trepidation however, she replied evenly and bluntly, "If it so please you, it was the subject of Lord Hamlet."

"And thank _Heavens_ he did," Polonius barked out sharply, which made the rose-colored hedgehog flinch, though the cobalt blue hedgehog took no notice and spun on his heel, walking back towards Elsinore. "I have heard of rumors that speak of Lord Hamlet seeking to spend an _awful_ lot of private time with you as of late, and that you've made yourself _quite _available to him."

Ophelia turned her head to hide her growing blush, but Polonius either ignored it or was completely oblivious to it, for he continued, "If it be so-and my sources only inform me of this out of caution-then I must say, you are not conducting enough self-restraint that any daughter of mine _should_ show."

The elder hedgehog suddenly grasped his daughter's hands in his own, and turned her so that they were forced to make eye contact. Ophelia yelped at her father's movements and quivered in trepidation, as she now could not hide the dark blush that had shaded her muzzle almost beyond the pink of her fur.

Taking note of her almost color-blended face, Polonius asked, with as little tension as he could, "What is between you two? Tell me the truth."

Ophelia decided to answer simply, "He has, as of late, made many tenders of his affection to me."

"_**Affection?!**_" Polonius barked and, throwing Ophelia's hands away, resumed walking, again making the maiden yelp before following in his stead, though a few paces behind. "_**Pooh! **_You speak like a green girl; unaware and ignorant to the ways of the world. Don't tell me you believe in these _'tenders,'_ as you call them."

Deciding to answer honestly, the pink hedgehog replied, "I know not what I _should_ believe, father."

"Marry, I'll tell you," the elder hedgehog snapped over his shoulder. "Think of yourself as a foolish little infant, should you take these _'tenders'_ as true pay, for they are far from sterling. _Tender_ and respect yourself more dearly, or-not to beat the poor word to death-you'll _tender_ me a laughing-stock."

"Father, he has always spoken of love in an honorable fashion-" Ophelia began, but stopped as she was interrupted by her father.

"Ay,_ 'fashion'_ you may call it; a passing whim," Polonius remarked sarcastically. Seeing he had halted his daughter mid-sentence, he then urged her, "Go on."

"He gives **countenance** to his word, with the _**holiest**_ of vows," Ophelia continued, now with a slight hint of vehemence laced into her response.

Though slightly taken aback by his daughter's retort, Polonius unwaveringly shot back, "Ay, these_ 'vows'_ are but springes to ensnare stupid birds. When blood burns, how a man's soul succumbs to enough prodigality to lend his tongue **ridiculous** vows. When the heart itself burns, giving more light than heat, the fire shall be extinct long before his promises are even made. You must **not** mistake it for the fires of true love.

"From this moment onward, make your maiden presence scant to him, and treat him not to your tongue. Make yourself out to be the precious commodity you _should_ be," the cobalt hedgehog ordered, rounding on his daughter once more. "Remember that young Lord Hamlet walks with a larger tether than may be given to you."

Ophelia, still slightly flushed, looked about ready to argue with her father, but Polonius raised a hand and spoke again, neutering her ability to do so, "In few, Ophelia, believe not his vows, for they are akin to mere pimps; donning suits and acting like pious bawds, the better to beguile women into a fling of indecency.

"Simply put, waste not any more time with the Lord Hamlet. Look to see it be done. Now, come," he commanded, turning on his heel one final time before marching into the halls of Elsinore.

"I shall obey, father," Ophelia replied, though Polonius was already well out of earshot.

But Ophelia already knew that _he_ knew she wouldn't disobey him, not before, and certainly not now.

* * *

**A/N: I guess I should put a disclaimer here so I don't get shot at or kidnapped by The Copyright SWAT team or something. I own not a single cell of any of the Sonic characters used in this story; SEGA and/or Archie Comics do. Also, the story of Hamlet is not owned by me either; although no one really knows who owns it and therefore can take credit for being the original author because Shakespeare's scripts of it are but his own stage adaptation of an ancient story/stories whose origins and credibility are still being debated today.**


	8. Go On, I'll Follow

"The air is shrewd and bitingly cold," the ebony prince complained, scowling as he snuggled underneath the collar-line of his jacket in an attempt to shield his face from the wind.

"Yes, it's quite a nippy and eager wind, isn't it?" Horatio replied, himself shivering as well.

"What is the hour?" Hamlet inquired, growing steadily more impatient and agitated. The loud music and pungent smell of booze emanating from Elsinore's ballroom was not helping ease the prince's mood one bit.

"It is just shy of midnight, I believe," the blue hedgehog replied, taking note of his friend's dirty glances towards the ruckus.

"_Non_, it 'as already struck twelve," Marcellus piped up.

"Really?" Horatio quipped. "I heard it not over the clamor. So then, the hour that the ghost should appear is drawing nigh-"

Horatio was abruptly cut off as the royal trumpets blared their flourish-though sloppily, hinting at how intoxicated the players were-which was then followed by two loud **BANG**s as a pair of cannons were fired.

"What is the meaning of this, my lord?" the azure hedgehog asked, slightly alarmed by the sounds of flourish and ordnance.

Unfazed and further irked, Hamlet replied, "Placate yourself! It is but the sound of the king and his merry band of _fools_ drinking and dancing the night away.

"Hear the musicians, they blare their trumpets and kettle-drums to celebrate his prodigious guzzling of German draughts," he snapped, rubbing his temples; he really was starting to get a migraine.

"Is it a custom?" Horatio asked.

"Marry, it is," the ebony prince sighed. "But to myself, though I am native to this land and its customs, I believe these traditions were better ignored rather than practiced. This rowdy revel gives other nations the ammunition to traduce us, calling us drunkards and swine, and insulting our noble titles. Indeed, it does take a toll on our achievements, significant and great though they may be, and tarnishes our reputation.

"For so oft does it strike a few certain unfortunate, that for some anomaly of nature within them, placed upon them at birth (for which they are not at fault, since not a single individual can choose or control their origins), or for some abnormal habits are they looked upon with heavy judgement. It so happens that those who carry the stamp of one tiny defect, as wonderful and virtuous and talented and pure as grace though they may be otherwise, face the wrathful censure of everyone around them. As if the tiniest grain of evil towers over every single one of their most virtuous facets and casts deep shadows on all of their greatest achievements."

Hamlet's eyes then widened in shock as a ghostly figure suddenly appeared before the three men.

"Look, my lord," Horatio cried, pointing to the pearlescent apparition, "it comes!"

"Angels and ministers of grace, defend us!" the black hedgehog cried, crossing himself frantically. "Being either a spirit of health or a goblin damned, bringing either Heaven's breezes or blasts of Hellfire, here with intentions either wicked or charitable, you come in such a strange and bizarre shape that I have the burning desire to speak to you.

"I'll call you 'Hamlet,' 'King,' 'Father,' 'royal Dane.' O answer me! Let me not burst in ignorance, but declare to me why your canonized bones have burst through your coffin; why your tomb, where we have witnessed you being interred, has reopened its marble jaws and spat you out into the world of the living once more? What may this mean, that your corpse has 'taken up arms' yet again, catching glimpses of the moon, making the night _hideously_ terrifying and we fools of nature to tremble in our boots, with thoughts of nothing but the domain beyond the reach of our souls? Why? _What do you want from us?_"

The Ghost said nothing, but motioned for a trembling Hamlet to come towards it.

"It beckons for you to go away with it," said Horatio. "It's as if it wishes to impart something to you and you alone."

"Look 'ow courteously it waves you toward more removed ground," Marcellus said shakily. "Do not go with it, _s'il vous plait_."

"No, by no means," the azure hedgehog interjected.

"But it will not speak otherwise. So, I shall follow it," the onyx hedgehog declared, at last regaining control over his trembling.

"Do _not_, my lord," Horatio replied vehemently.

"_And why not?_" the prince snapped. "What should be there for me to fear? I value my life no more than a murderer values the life of his victims. And as for my soul-well, a ghost cannot possibly do much to something as immortal as itself, can it? Look, it beckons to me to come forth again. I'll follow it."

"But what if it tempts you towards the sea?" the azure hedgehog shot back. "What if it draws you toward the summit of the cliff overhanging it, and once there, assume some horrible form to drive you mad? Think of it. The very place makes even the most level-headed of men feel despair to just look at the fathoms upon fathoms that is its depth, and to hear its roar beneath them."

"It still waves to me," Hamlet replied, all but ignoring Horatio's protests.

"Go on," the ebony prince bellowed to the Ghost. "I'll follow."

"You shall _not_ go, sire," Marcellus crowed as he and the cobalt hedgehog began to restrain the prince.

"Let go of me!" Hamlet cried, desperately trying to break free from the combined grip of the other hedgehog and the coyote.

"Peace, my lord! You're not going anywhere," Horatio retorted.

"My fate cries out," the prince cried, a glint of madness and desperation in his eyes as he squirmed even more under the other men's unwavering grip, "and all the nerves in my body, have become as hardy as steel. Still, I am called. **_Unhand me gentlemen!_**"

Hamlet then manages to break free of his captors and quickly draws his sword, while the other two could do nothing but back away from him, for Prince Hamlet's name was near-_legendary_ when it came to the art of swordfighting.

"By Heaven do I _swear_," he began, "that I shall make a _ghost_ of he who dares hold me back. Get away!

"Go on ahead," he repeated to the Ghost. "I'll follow."

And with that, the onyx hedgehog leapt off the battlement, landing neatly on the snow-flecked ground below. The pale apparition then drifted further away, with the ebony prince in tow.

"He waxes desperate and insane with imagination," Horatio pipes up, alarmed at the sudden turn of events.

"Let us follow zem," Marcellus replied. "It is not right to obey 'is order to leave 'im be."

"Go ahead," the azure hedgehog said. "But to what will this all lead to? When will it end?"

"Somesing is rotten in ze state of Denmark," the sentry replied darkly.

"Then let us let _Heaven_ direct it then," the hedgehog retorted.

"_Non_," Marcellus declared, drawing his sword. "Let us follow 'im."

* * *

**A/N: I guess I should put a disclaimer here so I don't get shot at or kidnapped by The Copyright SWAT team or something. I own not a single cell of any of the Sonic characters used in this story; SEGA and/or Archie Comics do. Also, the story of Hamlet is not owned by me either; although no one really knows who owns it and therefore can take credit for being the original author because Shakespeare's scripts of it are but his own stage adaptation of an ancient story/stories whose origins and credibility are still being debated today.**


	9. The Serpent That Wears His Crown

The feeling of unease instantly hit the ebony prince as he landed on the ground below Elsinore's ramparts, and it grew exponentially as the ghost led him farther away from the castle and into the forest behind it.

Increasingly terrified of the apparition, Hamlet came to a halt. Trembling, he inquired, "Where are you taking me? _Speak_. I will go no further."

The ghost then turned to face the prince, as he replied, "**Mark me.**"

The onyx hedgehog flinched upon hearing the ghost's deathly, guttural voice, but he replied as steadily as he could, "I will."

"**My hour is almost come,**" the spectre continued, "**when I to sulfurous and tormenting flames must render up myself.**"

"Alas, poor ghost!" Hamlet cried.

"**Pity me not, but lend thy serious hearing to what I shall unfold.**"

"Speak. I am bound to hear you."

"**So art thou to revenge when thou shalt hear.**"

"What?"

"**I am thy father's spirit, doomed for a certain term to walk the night and for the day confined to fast in fires, till the foul crimes done in my days of nature are burnt and purged away.**

"**But that I am forbid to tell the secrets of my prison house. I could a tale unfold whose lightest word would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood, make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres, thy knotted and combined locks to part, and each particular quill to stand on end, like those upon the fearful *porpentine.**"

The ebony prince had begun to tremble once again, yet the spectre continued, "**But this eternal blazon must not be to ears of flesh and blood. List, list, O, _list!_ If thou didst ever thy dear father love-**"

"Oh_ God!_" the prince exclaimed, whose senses were getting extremely overwhelmed.

"**Revenge his foul and most _unnatural_ murder,**" the ghost stated simply.

"M-murder?"

"**Murder most foul, as in the best it is. But this most foul, strange and unnatural.**"

"Then I ask you to make haste and tell me about it, so that I, with wings swift as medication or thoughts of love, may be able to extract vengeance," the hedgehog replied, finally steadying himself and glaring in determination.

"**I find thee apt,**" the apparition replied, with what looked like a ghost of a smile creeping onto its face. "**And duller shouldst thou be than the fat weed that roots itself in ease on **Lethe wharf, wouldst thou not stir in this.**

"**Now, Hamlet, hear. 'Tis given out that, sleeping in my orchard, a serpent stung me,**" the apparition resumed, his scowl deepening once more. "**So the whole ear of Denmark is by a forged process of my death rankly abused. But know, thou noble youth, the serpent that did sting thy father's life now wears his crown.**"

"_O my prophetic soul!_ _My uncle?_" Hamlet cried, his worst fears and greatest suspicions seemingly confirmed.

"**Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate _beast_,**" the ghost spat out venomously, "**with _witchcraft_ of his wit, with _traitorous_ gifts-O wicked wits and gifts, that have the power so to seduce-won to his shameful lust the will of my most seeming-virtuous queen.**

"**O Hamlet, what a falling off was there!**" it continued, its voice now filled with anguish. "**From _me_, whose love was of that dignity that it went hand in hand even with the vow I made to her in marriage, and to decline upon a _wretch_ whose natural gifts were poor to those of mine.**

"**But virtue,**" it continued, its voice filled to the brim with sorrow and anger, "**as it never will be moved, though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven, so lust, though to a radiant angel linked, will sate itself in a celestial bed and prey on garbage.**

"**But soft! Methinks I scent the morning air. Brief let me be,**" the apparition cocked its head to the east, and sure enough, a smudge of lighter blue was creeping from the horizon.

The spectre turned to face the ebony hedgehog and began again, now with more urgency, "**Sleeping in my orchard, my custom always of the afternoon, upon my secure hour thy uncle stole with juice of cursed ^hebenon in a vial, and in the porches of my ears did pour the leperous distilment, whose effect holds such an enmity with blood of man that, swift as quicksilver it courses through the natural gates and alleys of the body, and with a sudden vigor doth posset and curd, like eager droppings into milk, the thin and wholesome blood.**

"**So did it mine,**" the ghost said, anger seeping into its voice once more. "**And a most instant tetter barked about, most lazar-like, with _vile_ and _loathsome_ crust all my smooth body. Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand, of life, of crown, of queen at once dispatched, cut off even in the blossoms of my sin, unhouseled, disappointed, unaneled. No reckoning made, but sent to my account with all my imperfections on my head. Oh, horrible, oh, horrible, most horrible!**

"**If thou hast nature in thee, bear it not,**" Hamlet flinched as he not only heard, but _felt_ the apparition's voice suddenly reek of despair; it was practically begging. "**Let not the royal bed of Denmark be a couch for luxury and _damned_ incest. But howsoever thou pursuest this act, taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive against thy mother aught. Leave her to heaven, and to those thorns that in her bosom lodge to prick and sting her.**"

Hamlet flinched once again as he saw the apparition's eyes grow wide as it began bidding him goodbye. "**Fare thee well at once. The glowworm shows the matin to be near, and 'gins to pale his ineffectual fire. _Adieu, adieu, adieu! Remember me!_**" it cried, bidding the hedgehog one last anguished farewell before it faded into nothingness.

It was then that the inky blackness of night was broken once again by the fiery luminescence of day; banishing shadows far and wide.

* * *

**A/N: I guess I should put a disclaimer here so I don't get shot at or kidnapped by The Copyright SWAT team or something. I own not a single cell of any of the Sonic characters used in this story; SEGA and/or Archie Comics do. Also, the story of Hamlet is not owned by me either; although no one really knows who owns it and therefore can take credit for being the original author because Shakespeare's scripts of it are but his own stage adaptation of an ancient story/stories whose origins and credibility are still being debated today.**

***Porcupine.  
**A river in the Underworld that induces forgetfulness, according to Ancient Greek mythology.  
^The actual identity of the plant/poison that Shakespeare meant to use as a poison in Hamlet has been debated for centuries; though the most common theories of its identity include yew (as most parts of a yew tree are toxic, as well as for the symptoms described as being similar to those detailed by Edmund Spenser, an English poet from before Shakespeare was born), henbane (another toxic plant), and ebony (as it was commonly spelled with an "h" during the time "Hamlet" was being written).**


	10. By Heaven, By Sword, By Expletive

"O, all you in heaven! And earth! What else? Shall I couple hell to that as well?" the onyx hedgehog cried frantically, clutching his chest. "_Damn it!_ Beat, my heart. Beat and send blood to these sinews; keep them young and bearing me stiffly up.

"Remember you! Ay, poor ghost, I shall, as long as the power of memory holds a seat in the distracted senate of my head. Remember you _indeed!_" he began addressing the heavens above. "Yes, from this senate, I shall wipe clean all things trivial and unnecessary. Thy commandment alone shall be preserved; pure, undiluted and unmixed with baser matters."

Turning now to face the rough direction of Elsinore, he resumed his tirade, "O you pernicious woman! O villain! Villain! Damned smiling villain! My notes! It is best if I set down that one can smile and smile, and still be a villain. At least, it is likely so in Denmark.

"So, uncle, there you are," Hamlet remarked, scribbling away into his notes. "Now, to my word. _**'Adieu, adieu. Remember me,'**_ He uttered.

"Worry not, Father," the ebony prince muttered, turning once more to the sky, "I have sworn it."

* * *

Cold, afraid and exhausted though they were, Horatio and Marcellus continued to scour the forest even after the prince had shaken them off hours earlier.

"O Heaven, secure him!" Horatio groaned, slumping down against a tree, fatigued and worried.

"Secure? Then so be it," a voice behind them said suddenly, causing both men to jump out of their fur.

"_Illo-ho-ho_, my lord!" the cobalt hedgehog practically yelled, half-relieved and half-alarmed.

"_Hillo-ho-ho_, my boy!" Hamlet retorted, oddly bouncy. "Come, bird, come!"

The coyote and blue hedgehog exchanged worried looks before Marcellus inquired nervously, "So, 'ow did it go, my lord?"

"Oh, wonderful! Incredible! Splendid!" the prince replied, still unnervingly jumpy.

"Please, my lord, tell us," the azure hedgehog pleaded.

"_No_. You'll reveal it," Hamlet shot back, puffing out his bottom lip into a petulant pout.

Horatio, exasperated, replied, "I swear by heaven, I won't, sire."

"Nor I, Prince 'Amlet," crowed Marcellus.

Hesitantly, Hamlet quipped, "Alright. But you'll promise to be secret?"

"Ay, by heaven do we swear," the other men replied.

"There's never a villain in Denmark that isn't going to be, well, a villain," Hamlet began.

"There need be no ghost, my lord, to return from the grave to tell us _this_," Horatio remarked dryly.

"Why, you're absolutely right!" came the ebony hedgehog, in a slightly manic tone. "So, without much further ado about nothing, I see it fit that we merely shake hands and part ways. You, as your business and desire take you-for nobody lacks business or desire, for whatever they're worth. As for me, I think I shall go and pray."

Increasingly fearful of the prince's strange behavior, Horatio could not help but utter, "You speak such..._wild_ and _whirling_ words, sire."

"I heartily apologize if they offend you."

"Oh no, there is no offense taken, my lord."

"Oh but by Saint Patrick there _is_, Horatio-and much offense too! As for the ghost, it is an honest-to-God ghost; _that_ I can tell you. However, your desire to know what went down between us must, unfortunately, be left unfullfilled."

Though Hamlet saw Horatio visibly deflate upon hearing news that his curiosity will never be satisfied, the prince continued, "Now, my friends-as you are friends, scholars and soldiers alike-I ask that you grant me one small favor."

"What is it, sire? Of course we will," came the cobalt hedgehog.

"I ask you to never make known to anyone what you have witnessed tonight."

Unwaveringly, the scholar and the sentry replied in unison, "My lord, we will not."

"Nay, you must _swear_ it," Hamlet retorted.

Still unnerved by his jumpy, yet light-hearted attitude, Horatio and Marcellus each swore respectively.

"In faith, my lord, not I."

"Nor I, _seigneur_, in faith."

"_Upon my sword_," the ebony prince whined impatiently.

"But, sire we 'ave sworn already," Marcellus crowed.

"Indeed, but _this time_, upon my sword!" Hamlet cried.

"**Swear!**" came a deep, guttural voice seemingly from the very earth the three men stood upon, which incidentally made two of the three jump out of their skin.

"_Ha ha!_ Sayst thou so? Are you down there, truepenny?" the onyx hedgehog called out, seemingly replying to the spectral, otherworldly voice.

Turning his attention to the two men who now quaked in their boots before him, he continued impatiently, "Well, come on, you heard what the man in the cellar said; _consent to swear!_"

"P-propose the oath, my liege," Horatio replied, quickly grabbing hold of the prince's sword, positively frightened.

Unwaveringly, Hamlet declared, "Never speak of what you have seen. Swear it by my sword."

"**Swear!**" came the ghost, in a voice that reverberated horribly within the men's very skulls.

"*_Hic et ubique?_" the prince remarked, amused and chuckling slightly, despite the nerve-freezing spectral voice. "Maybe we must shift our ground. Gentlemen, come, and lay your hands upon my sword again. Swear by my sword to never speak of what you have heard."

"**Swear by his sword!**" the ghost bellowed.

"Well said, old mole! You're quite fast and busy in the dirt, aren't you? What a tunneler!" Hamlet quipped, almost laughing now.

Turning to the now completely frightened and alarmed Marcellus and Horatio, he declared casually, "Let us move once more, my friends."

"_O day and night, but this is unbelievably and wondrously strange!_" the cobalt hedgehog exclaimed.

"Then, as you would a stranger, give it a nice welcome," Hamlet retorted. "There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, that not even _you_ can ever dream of. But listen now to me. However strange or mad I bear myself (and methinks that such an antic disposition is called for in the near future), that you must never-not with a gesture of the hand or expression of the face, or with the enunciation of some doubtful, ambiguous phrase-let anyone know what has transpired here tonight. Swear that you won't."

"**Swear!**" came the ghost, one final time.

With frantic swears (of more than one kind), the scholar and the sentry swore; each by heaven, by the sword, and by screaming expletives.

"Alright, _alright_, perturbed spirit! You may rest easy now. So, gentlemen," Hamlet said, pausing to bring both Horatio and Marcellus up from their cowering positions before he continued, "I thank you both heartily, and I shall not forget to someday repay you in kind, however I can."

Turning back now towards Elsinore, the onyx hedgehog continued addressing them, "Let us go back to court together, but I do pray that your fingers still be on your lips. _Shhhhhhh._

"Oh, these times, they are so out of joint," Hamlet sighed conversationally, walking back to the castle, a very shaken Marcellus and very unnerved Horatio in tow. "O _damn_ cursed spite, that ever I was to be the one to set it right!"

**_Exeunt_**

**_Finem Actu I_**

* * *

**A/N: I guess I should put a disclaimer here so I don't get shot at or kidnapped by The Copyright SWAT team or something. I own not a single cell of any of the Sonic characters used in this story; SEGA and/or Archie Comics do. Also, the story of Hamlet is not owned by me either; although no one really knows who owns it and therefore can take credit for being the original author because Shakespeare's scripts of it are but his own stage adaptation of an ancient story/stories whose origins and credibility are still being debated today.**

***Latin, lit. "here and everywhere"**

_**Oh my giddy aunt this was only the first act (?!)**_


	11. The Wrath of Norway

**Interlude I**

Both Cornelius and Voltemand simultaneously flinched as another sharp **_thwack_** resounded in Akershus' otherwise-silent court room.

Even still, the younger echidna neither spoke nor cried out in pain, and merely stood there, silently taking his uncle's none-too-soft smacks.

The elder echidna as well stood, with face devoid of emotion; save for his eyes, which burned with a frightening, barely-contained rage.

The simple but brutal beating finally ended when, with a profusely bleeding lip and angry red blotches staining his muzzle, the younger echidna fell onto his right knee.

The elder echidna panted slightly, barely able to lift his increasingly sore right arm.

Voltemand realized long before this that young Cornelius clung tightly onto his arm, biting his lip and willing himself to not break down in tears. The armadillo placed his other arm around the trembling flying squirrel, and willed him to look away.

The king suddenly snapped his fingers, and a servant on each side passed him an envelope.

"I am a fair ruler, who listens to the needs of his people, and tries his best to meet them, all the while looking for ways to make the kingdom go beyond just surviving. I believe we are all agreed on _that_," the king inquired in a gruff voice that resulted in hurried murmurs of agreement. "But do not for one second _think_, that in my old age, that I would tolerate such..._insolence_ of this magnitude; even if it _is_ from within the walls of this castle.

"We have had a long-standing feud with our neighbors to the south, yes," he continued, momentarily glancing in the Danish ambassadors' direction before addressing the court once more, "and tensions have boiled over the last time we have clashed, resulting in the loss of our dearly departed King Fortinbras. However, as the dust settles on our seemingly shameful defeat, we must realize that the lands our respective Majesties so valiantly fought over, were something akin to damn near _worthless_.

"Even so, unlike what most of the nation has so humbly and graciously done, there are _those of us_ who still have not learned to accept what we have been given by fate, and would rather stage another _pointless_ conflict with Denmark," the king paused to throw a spiteful glance towards the crown prince, who still knelt on one knee, staring up at his uncle with a hard look. "So, I propose a vote; those in favor of dwelling in the past?"

Dead silence followed his words.

"Those in favor of facing the future?"

A unanimous chorus of "aye" was all the king needed to rip the envelope in his left hand-which was noticeably less thick-to shreds.

He handed the other envelope to Voltemand, all the while maintaining eye contact with his nephew, who still knelt on the ground, his face as stony as ever.

"But, if we _are_ to dwell on anything, I believe our attention should be focused further southeast," the king resumed, breaking eye contact with the crimson prince. "I hear Poland is..._nice_this time of year."

A smirk found its way simultaneously onto both echidna's faces, which did not go unnoticed by either Dane.

Both Cornelius and Voltemand, after already relaxing slightly upon hearing the court's verdict, involuntarily shivered.

* * *

**A/N: I guess I should put a disclaimer here so I don't get shot at or kidnapped by The Copyright SWAT team or something. I own not a single cell of any of the Sonic characters used in this story; SEGA and/or Archie Comics do. Also, the story of Hamlet is not owned by me either; although no one really knows who owns it and therefore can take credit for being the original author because Shakespeare's scripts of it are but his own stage adaptation of an ancient story/stories whose origins and credibility are still being debated today.**


	12. For Ophelia

Very rarely did Ophelia ever have any mishaps while sewing. Today however, was one of those rare days.

She swore under her breath as she pricked herself for the umpteenth time that hour. The brown, unopened envelope, perched on top of her nightstand, sat there notably out of the corner of her eye; as if mocking her once-fluid and effective fingers, now a jittery, clumsy tangle. Ophelia huffed in defiance, and then groaned in irritation. She was going _mad_. And it wasn't just because of the newfound blood-drainage system on her fingers, but the unread letter as well. The words "_For Ophelia,_" which were written in the ebony prince's quick but elegant handwriting, were temptingly taunting her; _daring_ her to open it and read.

But Ophelia must resist. She _had_ to. She **must** send the letter back. She _**must not**_ interact with Prince Hamlet.

But interact with _her_ he did. And on more than one occasion. Oh how they have **_interacted,_** many, _many_ times before. But none like today.

Today, she heard haphazard, uneven footsteps just outside her bedchambers. Just before she could stand up to see the source of the noise however, the door flew open, and there the aformentioned onyx hedgehog stood in a right fit state. His quills were disheveled, and stuck out at even odder angles than usual. His coat barely hung from his shoulders while his shirt was seemingly ripped wide open; damp with sweat and stained with dirt. His trousers had been ripped in several places and were very dirty. Worst of all, he looked as if most of the color had drained from his face.

Ophelia gasped at the prince's extraordinarily haggard appearance; standing up and half-running to inspect him for any injuries. His brilliant crimson eyes made him look all the more unreal; as if the eyes of a divine angel had manifested themselves upon a mortal wretch.

"My...my lord?" she whispered with caution. Her eyes scanned his, yet she found nothing but unease; though of course, the prince kept his face composed in its usual stoic expression. She began to reach a hand up, to see if the ebony hedgehog was feverish, but was abruptly stopped halfway by the prince's hand.

Ophelia yelped at his tight hold on her wrist, and began attempting to wriggle herself free. Her protesting ceased, however, as the onyx hedgehog brought a forefinger to his lips, all the while his gleaming red eyes never left her face.

For a moment, they just stood there, eyes locked and unmoving. But then the ebony prince swooped down to the crook of the other's neck; his lips stopping just shy of coming completely into contact with the sensitive flesh. He hung there, motionless once more, save for his chest, which rose and fell in time with his deep breathing.

Ophelia shuddered as his exhales caressed and wrapped itself around her neck; a gallow made of hot breath that only exacerbated her earlier frustrations. He was so _close,_ yet so _far._

His hands roamed her back in the same, gentle manner as his lips did her neck. Her skin felt like it _**burned**_ in their wake, as if they left trails of fire through the fabric of her dress. Oh God did she not need this right now, but she wanted it so _very_ badly.

Hamlet continued his ministrations, and began to feel a profound heat coming not just physically from the cracks and crevices of the rose hedgehog's frame, but also aurally, as Ophelia sighed in a peculiar mixture of both deep satisfaction and completely wanton frustration. His mouth twitched into a tiny, unseen smirk as he then started lapping at the other's exposed neck, which brough forth a few barely audible gasps out of Ophelia. Soon those licks turned to nipping, and his fingers pressed more intently into her back.

Ophelia could not help but moan. Oh God did she love this, but she thought it would have been even better if she could lock lips with him, and feel his tongue entangle with hers, as their moans resounded in each other's mouths.

The ebony prince soon let go of his hold on the maiden's wrist, as he brought both hands to her hips, caressing around the circumference of it, brushing against her lower back and abdomen.

At this point she could feel a fire within her consuming her from the inside out; she was going to _**explode**_ at the seams from sheer bliss.

Hamlet let Ophelia's gasps of pleasure and whimpers of satisfaction crescendo to a peak, before he-almost _cruelly_-stopped altogether. She whined as the prince abruptly ceased his ministrations and began stepping backwards out of her room, all the while pressing a forefinger to his lips. The maiden, frustrated and disappointed though she was, simply nodded. She knew not what he had planned, but she understood that whatever it may be, he trusts her enough to keep quiet about it.

_**Exeunt**_

_**Finem Interlude I**_

* * *

**A/N: I guess I should put a disclaimer here so I don't get shot at or kidnapped by The Copyright SWAT team or something. I own not a single cell of any of the Sonic characters used in this story; SEGA and/or Archie Comics do. Also, the story of Hamlet is not owned by me either; although no one really knows who owns it and therefore can take credit for being the original author because Shakespeare's scripts of it are but his own stage adaptation of an ancient story/stories whose origins and credibility are still being debated today.**


End file.
